


Now I Got You In My Space

by crowbarwolf



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 18:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2280447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowbarwolf/pseuds/crowbarwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. <i>It would've been the perfect chance to make up for all the times they weren't together in the past few weeks.</i> Or: Rocket hates Tony Stark, the traffic in New York, and ultimately, himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now I Got You In My Space

**Author's Note:**

> Holy god, it's been a while, I haven't written anything proper for _months_ now. I can't believe a tree and a raccoon became the motivation I severely needed to write anything again. Unbeta'd, so please forgive me if you find more than a lot of mistakes. Aaand I've always thought of Santiago Cabrera as Groot and Steven Yeun as Rocket. Just sayin.

On an early Friday morning, Rocket is unfortunately woken up not by his nine o'clock alarm, but by the sound of Till Lindemann crooning about cannibalism from his phone.

Next to him, the bed dips as Groot shifts, starting to stir, and Rocket tries to keep his cussing to a minimum volume. He snatches the damned thing off the nightstand, puts on the over-sized boxers pooled at the edge of the bed, before stumbling blindly out of the bedroom.

Closing the door gently, he strides toward the farthest room in their overly-spacious penthouse, which turns out to be the kitchen instead of the bathroom, thank fuck, and answers the call with an irritated hiss of, "Bloody fuckin' _fuck_ , Stark, I swear, this is the last time we're working together."

Stark doesn't laugh as he usually does, which a bad omen for all involved. He clears his throat, waits for a few beats, then says, "We might be in trouble"

There are at least fifty possibilities passing through his mind of what kind of disaster Stark has managed to get himself into in the span of - he looks at the clock; it's half past four in the morning - eight hours between the last time Rocket saw him at the lab, raging from minor explosion to a zombie apocalypse.

Rocket feels justified in his paranoia; the last time Stark called him without cackling at his cussing, he had accidentally turned the General of Defense into a blood-thirsty reptilian monster and very nearly nuked New York City after several attempts to stabilise him had failed.

Sighing, Rocket rubs his eyes viciously, forcing the remnant of sleep away with sheer force of will and slumps against the dining table. "What the fuck happened?"

"We caught a spy posing as one of Banner's interns messing around the system," Stark says. "Not sure about the details, only heard the words 'activist' and 'anti-technology-revolution'. It's quite possible that we will lose everything we've worked for in two hours." A pause, furious typing in the background, then it ceases. Rocket's heart is lodged in his throat. "Make that one."

"I'll be there in a jiffy," Rocket tells him curtly, and hangs up. He covers his face with his hands and feels the frustration bubbling in his chest, rage and anger and something akin to _sadness_ welled behind his lids.

He has Plans for today, Big Plans. Plans that involve him and Groot defiling their new sheets until ten; a brunch at the local cafe, after that, and perhaps a few more rounds on every flat surface at their penthouse. Lunch at the local diner that Groot likes so much and dinner at the French restaurant down the street.

It would've been the perfect chance to make up for all the times they weren't together in the past few weeks.

Rocket considers not going, opting to stay in bed for another couple of hours, wake Groot up with a blowjob. Companies rise and fall, like regiments, and Stark Industry wouldn't be the first nor the last in line.

Groot would know, though. He won't know the specifics - he never cares much for it - but he will always know that today, Rocket didn't do The Morally Right Thing.

He wouldn't be angry, he's never angry at Rocket, only disappointed, and it would show on his face, in every single thing he does, the way he would definitely distance himself for a little while, and Rocket doesn't want that.

Taking a deep breath, Rocket rubs his eyes, steels his nerves, before setting to work around the coffee machine, mind already working a hundred miles per-hour on how to solve Stark's latest fuck up.

He's going to need more than three cups of very black coffee for this.

-

By the time he finally gets to go home, his digital clock is flashing at precisely 11.45, and New York is buzzing with its usual crowd of people in various state of distress.

Rocket, one of the people himself, calculates the minutes it will take from the tower to the penthouse using public transport. The result is rather unsatisfying. He calculates the time it will take if he steals one of Stark's suits, then decides it's not worth the hassle.

Lunch is no longer an option.

Feeling rather homicidal, Rocket fires Quill a text to pick him up, knowing Groot is most likely busy with his painting right about now. Quill's reply is immediate.

 **STAR-PRINCE:** i thought you  & groot r going out f/ ur anniversary 2day???

 **ROCK-ET:** Are you picking me up or not

 **STAR-PRINCE:**  hold ur horses jesus im coming

 **STAR-PRINCE:**  heh coming

Rocket doesn't bother dignifying that with a response.

Twenty minutes later, Quill's red impala is pulling over and, quite predictably, he parks it right in front of the 'NO-PARKING ZONE UNLESS YOU'RE TONY STARK' sign.

It's a rather big sign.

Rocket briefly considers the pros and cons of throwing Quill into the sewer or blow him up where he sits. The only reason he does neither is the knowledge that Groot would be very cross with him if he does, so he doesn't.

"Hey man," Quill quips joyfully, when Rocket gets into the car. "Drop you off at the penthouse, yeah? I gotta pick my boyfriend _and_ girlfriend at the airport in half an hour, they'd be pissed if I'm late."

"Drax and Gamora are coming?" Rocket furrows his brow. "Here? I thought we're meeting back in Paris?"

"Change of plans," Quill says. "Just got the word from Yondu this morning that Ronan finished his honeymoon two weeks early. The auction's gonna be held next Saturday."

"It's a trap," Rocket says immediately. Quill snorts.

"Ya think?"

On the way, they discuss a new set of plan to get to Ronan. Their job - their  _real_ job, the job where most of their money comes from - is basically to steal whatever the fuck they want from rich fuck-ups on the wrong side of the law who had crossed them one point or another in the past.

It's a long list of people, but Ronan's name came up a few weeks ago in Interpol's Most Wanted List after he stole something called 'Infinity Stone'. Gamora, who specialises in art and stupidly-expensive-lost-artifacts, has no knowledge about this thing, which is worrying.

Rumour has it that Ronan wants to sell the Infinity Stone in one of his auction houses after a falling out with his business partner, Thanos. It's exactly the push some of them (read: Gamora) needs to solidify their resolve to steal the Infinity Stone.

"Here we are," Quill announces with flourish. Rocket startles, looks out the window, and realises that they've arrived. He thinks of his Big Plans for the day, the list of things that constitute as 'fun' that took days to finish; he thinks of Groot, alone in the penthouse at the day of their anniversary. His heart sinks.

A hand grabs at his shoulder, once again startling him from his reverie. Quill's face, when he turns to look, is fond and encouraging. "He ain't gonna be angry, you know." Quill says. "He likes you too much to be."

"It's our anniversary." Rocket states hollowly.

"It's just another day of you and him together for years to come, Rocket," Quill says, patient as a saint. "He won't leave you because of one missed anniversary."

Rocket swallows. He gets out of the car.

Once he makes it to his floor, the smell of food assaults his nose. He can make out the smell of beef and barbeque sauce; the smell of chocolate and Groot's apple pie and baked bread. His stomach grumbles, reminding him of the breakfast he's missed.

Food has always been his weakness. Groot knows this well.

Without stalling any longer, Rocket slides his key into the lock and opens the door.

Bypassing the living room, he checks the studio to find several paintings have been put up to dry, dirty newspaper stacked neatly on the corner of the room held down by Rocket's old Walther. He leaves his satchel on the floor by the door way and goes to the kitchen.

Groot is leaning against the dining table, wearing paint-stained jeans and tank top, reading  _The Dream Thieves_ like the dork he is.

All the kitchen utensils have been cleared away, the oven being the only one open to reveal a freshly-baked pie. The dining table is littered with his favourite food: calamaris, beef wellington, a slice of almond cake and of course, the apple pie.

Rocket makes a delighted noise along with his grumbling stomach, and Groot looks up, looks at him over his shoulder, and his smile makes Rocket feel much better than the food does. Rocket walks helplessly over to him.

"Hi," he says, smiling up at Groot, who is a head and a few inches taller than him, fingers curling at the hem of the tank top. Groot leans down, nudges his nose against Rocket's cheekbone, lips brushing against the corner of his lips.

"Hi," Groot replies, and he sounds as happy as Rocket does. His hands come to rest on Rocket's hips, pulling him in. Their lips touch; a chaste loving kiss that will soon turn into something more, something hungry and consuming and desperate if he doesn't stop soon, so he does, regretfully.

When Groot looks at him in confusion, Rocket gestures at the food, then his stomach. "Food first," he declares, even as his hands twitch at his side, as eager to explore Groot's olive skin as his mouth is. "Sex later."

The laugh that comes out of Groot's mouth is deep and lovely. Rocket wants to chase it down with his tongue, his lips.

But. Food first.

"Come on," Rocket says, tugging at Groot's hand impatiently. "I can't wait for you to fuck me like, yesterday, and we can't do that on an empty stomach."

Groot laughs.

-

Their bed is a simple double-bed placed at the centre of their bedroom, right below the large window that Rocket has come to loathe a little less over the months. Groot loves the window for the way the morning light falls across Rocket's form. It's lovely, he claims. He has photographic evidence to back this statement.

At the moment, though, Rocket doesn't care about the bloody window, can't bring himself to, what with Groot's body pressing him to the mattress, Groot's hands wandering down from his ribs to his thighs, spreading them wider to accommodate his body between Rocket's legs.

Rocket sighs as their bodies fit together, then moans when Groot rolls his hips, their cocks rubbing against each other, already slick with pre-come. Their pants and clothes are somewhere in the living room, long discarded after lunch. Groot pulls back to concentrate on his hand, wrapped around both of their cocks, stroking lazily like he has all the time in the world while Rocket pepper kisses on the corner of his jaw.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles against Groot's cheek, hitching his legs higher around Groot's hips. "I should've been here for you the entire day."

"Whatever for?" asks Groot, shifting to look at him in the eye, his talented hand never faltering. His thumb rub across the slit of Rocket's cock and Rocket's breath hitches, bites his lower lip to stifle his moan. Groot doesn't seem to be bothered by that, but he does it again, harder, nipping at the sensitive skin below Rocket's ear, and Rocket lets out a needy mewl in return.

"Our - anniversary," Rocket grits out between heavy breaths, parting his mouth readily at Groot's questing tongue. Groot pauses, and Rocket groans in disappointment when the stroking stops.

It's - it's ridiculous, he thinks, how upset he is about the entire thing. He knows Groot won't be angry, Quill knows Groot won't be angry, hell,  _everyone_ who knows them knows Groot will never be angry.

You don't need a genius that Rocket is the one who is more upset, even though he's the one who fails to go through with the Big Plans in the first place.

After a moment, Groot continues his ministration around their cocks, pressing his mouth once again to Rocket's.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and no, that's not what Rocket wants, that's not - "I'm sorry we don't get to do all those things you want," which explains the missing list of the Big Plans that Rocket's compiled. "Tenth year anniversary is a rather big thing," yes, exactly, Rocket thinks, breath stuttering when Groot's hand abandons his cock to slip between his ass, rubbing across the tight ring of muscles there.

Then Groot leans back on his knees - the fucking  _tease_ \- and Rocket groans at the loss. Groot simply smiles sweetly down at him, eyes dark with desire.

"There are two ways we can play this," Groot tells him, body stretching languidly as he reaches toward the nightstand. "I can ride you until you come, but you won't get to touch," he says, plucking a glossy crimson tie from the drawer, "or I can ride you, and you can touch, but you won't get to come until I say so." He takes the cock ring out of the drawer.

Rocket stares. Considers it.

First, the image of Groot riding him is easy to conjure; thighs spread wide apart, cock slapping against his stomach, muscles pulled taut, his body gleaming with sweat. He will be able to see the naked expression of pleasure on Groot's face, can see him bare and naked and wanting, bouncing on Rocket's cock like it's the best thing in the world.

He won't get to touch, though, which is the least of what he wants right now, since Groot is _right there_. Rocket wants to run his fingers through his curls, wants to feel the muscles beneath his fingertips. He thinks of the way Groot would tease - because he definitely _would_ \- fucking him with his fingers longer than necessary, until Rocket can't take it anymore -

"I really want you to fuck me," Rocket confesses in a hoarse voice. "You can - you can ride me later, tonight. After dinner." He adds, "I really need to touch you."

Groot swallows, leans down to kiss him long and hard, and puts the cock ring in place. Pulling back, he uncaps the lube, coats two of his fingers with it, before fitting his mouth against Rocket's once more.

It doesn't take long until Groot's fingers are probing against his entrance, rubbing at it soothingly until he's relaxed enough to take both fingers at once. It burns, a bit, but Rocket doesn't mind; he likes the burn and the knowledge that it will get better soon.

And it does, sooner than later.

Groot's fingers are long and slender, the fingers of a painter. They're a bit rough and calloused, and when they finally find his prostate, rubbing against it firmly, Rocket can't help the surprised _'ah!'_ that escapes his lips. He dugs his heels into the mattress, grounds down against Groot's fingers in attempt to get him to do it again.

Unfortunately - or fortunately - Groot obliges for far too long, like he'd thought. Sliding his fingers in and out hard and slow, deep as they go, until Rocket is sobbing for it, for Groot to fuck him already, to let him come; he's so close he can taste it on the back of his throat.

The sound of something ripping catches his attention. Rocket opens his eyes to find Groot ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth, looking down at Rocket with dark eyes, full of intent. He's stroking his cock lazily, hard and dripping with pre-come. Rocket moans at the sight.

"No condom, just - " he pauses, whimpers when Groot fingers jabs a bit too hard against his prostate, takes a deep steadying breath. "I want to feel all of you," he mumbles, slightly embarrassed although he's far too aroused at the idea to care much.

"Fuck," is all Groot says, before lifting Rocket's legs, placing them on his shoulders. It's times like these that Rocket feels grateful for all the Yoga classes Quill forced him to attend. He happily pulls Groot down for a kiss, barely feeling the strain as he is bent nearly in half, and moans when Groot finally slides his cock into him.

He does it slowly, lazily almost, making Rocket feel the slow drag of his bare cock against his inside, inch by inch. It's slow and perfect and everything he wants. Groot is staring at him in adoration and love, licking into his mouth when Rocket tries to stifle his moan, gripping his thighs when Rocket's fingernails start digging into the meat of his shoulders.

After a minute of adjusting to the feeling of being filled and Groot hasn't tried to move yet, Rocket gets impatient, scratches his nails down the length of Groot's back then purposefully clenches around the cock inside him. Groot groans, the sound low and hoarse and deep, and begins to fuck him in earnest.

Rocket moans, thighs quivering, as Groot continues to thrust. He claws against Groot's skin every time his cock slams against his prostate, whimpers happily at the wonderful friction of Groot's stomach against his cock, and mewls when Groot's fingers are tangled in his hair, pulling and scratching at his scalp.

It's the hair-pulling that does it for him, that makes him want to beg. Groot takes pity on him - or maybe not - by going harder, faster, and Rocket doesn't know how this will _help_ since he's still wearing the cock ring, he still can't come, and when Groot finally does, he wants to sob because it feels _so good_ but he's still _not allowed to come_.

Groot takes a moment to catch his breath. He plants a kiss against the corner of Rocket's mouth, murmurs, "It's okay, I'll take care of you," before flipping Rocket on his hands and knees. Once the cock ring is off, Groot kneads the globes of his ass, spreads them, then plunges his tongue deep into him with no finesse.

Rocket curses, thrusts back against the tongue inside him, and thinks of the way Groot's come is sliding down his thighs, Groot's tongue licking his own come inside Rocket's fucking _ass_ , already tender and sensitive, and he can't help it; Rocket comes with a hoarse cry, Groot's name on his lips.

When he comes to - and isn't _that_ embarrassing? Ten years of being together and the sex is still good, better than good even - the air conditioning is on, and the sheet has been replaced. Rocket's body smells faintly of lavender, which means that Groot has cleaned him up while he sleeps.

Outside, the sky is dark, littered with stars. Next to him, Groot is reading _The Dream Thieves_ again, humming a song that sounds suspiciously like Rio soundtrack under his breath. Rocket nudges his face against his bare hip.

"You didn't wake me," Rocket accuses. "We were supposed to have dinner, remember?"

Groot marks the page he was reading and buries his fingers into Rocket's hair. He shrugs unapologetic ally.

"You've been working non-stop this week," he says mildly. "You looked like you need the rest."

"But dinner -" Rocket starts to say. Groot kisses his lips shut.

"Tomorrow," assures Groot. "We will do everything you want. I'll wake you up with a blowjob, we can have brunch at the park, dinner at that restaurant you like, and we'll think of blueprints and Ronan's auction and Quill's plan to ruin his life.

"In the meantime," Groot's voice drops, low and intimate, pushing Rocket down on his back. "I believe I've made a promise to ride you."

"Only if you want to," Rocket allows himself to smile, despite his worries.

Groot wraps the crimson tie around his wrists and kisses him.

They'll worry about everything tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO: yes I ship Peter/Drax/Gamora, no, you cannot take this away from me, I will ship a tree and a raccoon and no one can stop me.


End file.
